


Never Let Me Go

by legendofthefireemblem



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthefireemblem/pseuds/legendofthefireemblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras wakes up in an not so empty room with no memories and an armful of ribbons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who am I?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jinxed_Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxed_Ink/gifts).



> For Jinxed Ink - who wanted both an e/R fic and something else that will show up later ;)
> 
> I'm partly embarrassed that I had to make this a multichapter so that you would have something to read for Christmas, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Who am I?

That was the first question he had when he woke up. He sat up, in a bed which was in a room that he did not recognize one bit. As he ran his fingers through his wavy golden locks, he frowned as the question surfaced once more. 

Who am I?

He swivelled and began to step out of bed. 

"If you're trying to get out of bed, I'd warn against it."

He looked up to see a bedraggled male staring down at him, his brown eyes twinkling in amusement. "Believe me," continued the curly haired brunet. "The doctor warned against it and I wouldn't want to cross him."

"What doctor?" He asked curiously, having sat back down in the bed. He glanced around the room - which aside from the bed he was in, was only filled by two chairs. "Where am I?" He paused. "Who am I?" 

The other male sighed. "The doctor told me you'd be confused and disoriented, but I didn't expect this." The brunet fiddled with his watch as he muttered something in an aside to himself. Something along the lines of amnesia and someone named Enjolras. 

Enjolras. 

That was his name.

"Enjolras," he whispered to himself, delighted by the way it naturally rolled off his tongue. 

"Excuse me?" The brunet was staring at him, almost as if he couldn't believe what he had said. 

"My name is Enjolras." He stated, matching the other's stare with a glare of his own. "Isn't it?"

The other male seemed hesitant. "It is." There was a pregnant pause. "And I'm Grantaire." 

Grantaire. The name seemed familiar to Enjolras. He couldn't remember the reason why though. 

"Why am I here, Grantaire?" Questioned Enjolras, tilting his head to the right. 

Grantaire's face twisted into a grimace. "Maybe I'm not the best person to tell you." His eyes were fixated on Enjolras' arm. Enjolras followed his gaze. To his surprise, his right arm was covered in ribbons. 

"What are these?" He asked, picking at a ribbon covered in flower print. 

"They're... Souvenirs." Replied Grantaire, glancing at his watch. 

"Souvenirs of what?" He demanded. 

Grantaire didn't answer. 

"Souvenirs... Remember..." Enjolras muttered quietly to himself, trying to think of what the souvenirs could mean. Souvenir meant remember in French, Enjolras could recall that much, but why would he need souven- Oh. Right. He currently had amnesia. 

"I have to go." Grantaire interrupted Enjolras' train of thought. 

"Go where?"

"You have to meet the doctor."

~~~

Grantaire had left to fetch the doctor and as much as Enjolras hated to admit it, he was anxious about Grantaire's return. The curly haired brunet was the only person that he knew. Enjolras was trying to rationalize his sudden fear when Grantaire and another male walked in together. 

"Who are you?" Demanded Enjolras, a touch of panic in his voice. 

A sadness crossed the other male's face. He had short, straight brown hair and grey eyes. The man pushed his glasses further up his nose and sighed. "I'm the doctor. Your doctor. I've been looking after you for a long time."

Enjolras grumbled. He was sick of the dodgy answers to his questions. He was an amnesiac, not some six year old child. 

"If you'll excuse me," started Grantaire, as he began to leave the room abruptly. 

"Wait," pleaded Enjolras. "Don't -" He had left. "- go." Enjolras turned back to 'the doctor' who seemed to be watching his reaction with utmost curiosity. 

"Ahem." The doctor coughed. "Let us begin." 

Enjolras stared at the doctor incredulously. "Begin with what, doctor?" He mocked. 

"With that ribbon, the one that your fidgeting with." 

Enjolras looked down. He hadn't even noticed it, but he had gone back to fidgeting with the floral print ribbon. Slowly, as if he was scared to rip it, he untied the ribbon's beautiful bow. Enjolras stared at the undone ribbon, grasping it tightly in his hand.

"Tell me, who is the first person you think about when you see that ribbon?" The doctor pulled out a clipboard and a pen, ready to jot down whatever Enjolras said. 

"Jean Prouvaire." He replied, not even hesitating. 

But who was Jean Prouvaire?

And then the memory came. 

~~~

Enjolras approached a young man with a few ribbons tied in his hair. After observing him for a few seconds, he walked up to him, tapping him on the shoulder before he spoke. "Are you Jehan?" 

"I don't know him. But I may know where to find him." Responded the male cryptically. 

Enjolras rolled up the right sleeve of his red jacket, revealing seven ribbons tied on his arm. 

The boy with ribbons smiled at him before nodding. "In that case," he started. "I'm your man. Jean Prouvaire. Call me Jehan." Said the male with a wide smile, holding his hand out for a handshake. 

Enjolras returned both the smile and the handshake - although less enthusiastically than the former. "Julien Enjolras." He paused. "You're the youngest I've seen so far."

"Youngest guide, you mean?" Questioned Jehan, a bright smile on his face. "Because we have a messenger who's about ten years younger than I am." 

"That's why you're the last stop." Mused Enjolras. "Because you're the youngest and therefore the one who deserves to be the closest to safety."

The light briefly went out of Jehan's eyes. "Yeah, closest to the Corinth means I'm theoretically the closest to safety. But I see you have everyone else's ribbon, so I doubt you're the bearer of bad news." 

"You're right. I'm the package." Stated Enjolras. 

"You're the famous package?" Exclaimed Jehan. "It must be hard having your memory erased every few stops. I'm surprised you haven't tried to run away yet."

Enjolras smiled, shaking his head. "I am the rebellious type, but I trust my friends. I know they're the ones who sent me on this path and I'm sure they wouldn't have done it unless it was their best option. I may not remember their names anymore, but I do remember their legacy." He bowed his head at the end. 

"Well then, we have to get a move on." Declared Jehan as he tied Enjolras' hair back with a floral print ribbon. "We need to get you to the Corinth."

~~~

When Enjolras awoke, the doctor was gone. He looked down. His hand was still tightly gripping the floral print ribbon. 

"Are you alright?" Enjolras' head jerked up. It was Grantaire. "It's perfectly normal to feel tired after-"

"I'm fine." Enjolras paused. "Do you know him? Jehan?" 

Grantaire froze. "Jean Prouvaire?" 

"That's him." 

There was a loud silence. 

"I do. I do know him." Grantaire gave a small smile. "Is he who you remembered?"

Enjolras nodded. "Is it weird that it's starting to come back to me? That I remember that he's the only son of a wealthy family. That he speaks a multitude of languages. That he's a poet, that he can play the flute." Enjolras' voice was slowly escalating in pitch, the amount of new information that he had was overloading his brain. Before he could even register it, Grantaire's arms were around him. 

Grantaire swiftly took the ribbon from his grasp and tied back Enjolras' hair with it; just like Jehan had done when they had first met. "It's completely normal to remember all about Jehan but still have no clue where you stand." He reassured. "Your memories will come back eventually." And then he left the room. 

Enjolras frowned. Why had Grantaire left the room? Was talking about Jehan making him uncomfortable?

Then there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in," he yelled. 

Another male with curly black hair walked in. 

"Hi," he said excitedly. "I'm your psychiatrist."


	2. ABC Café

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras disappoints the psychiatrist for unknown reasons and lucky four leaf clovers bring good luck.

"So let's start," declared the psychiatrist cheerily, pulling out a clipboard. "Which ribbon is calling out for you to pick it?" He questioned in a joking manner. 

Enjolras glared at the psychiatrist before untying the next ribbon on his arm. It was brown but green four-leaf clovers had been painted on it. 

"Alright," said the psychiatrist, sounding somewhat disappointed. He looked down at the clipboard, almost as if to hide his face. "Who's ribbon is that?" He asked softly. 

"Bossuet's. Er, L'Aigle's. I mean Lesgles'."

The psychiatrist chuckled. "Looks like L'Aigle de Meaux is a very lucky person."

Enjolras didn't know why it was funny, but he laughed. 

~~~

Enjolras was drinking coffee in a café when a bald man walked by him. "A B C café," he whispered, just loud enough for the bald man to hear. The bald man, to his credit, wasn't surprised. He sat down calmly in front of Enjolras as if that was what he had been planning to do all along. 

"L'Aigle de Meaux." The bald man introduced himself, holding his hand out for a handshake. 

Enjolras smiled, shaking the other's hand. "You must be Bossuet." When the other nodded, he continued. "I'm Julien Enjolras." 

"Nice to meet you," replied Bossuet, wearing a large grin. "According to my friend, I should come with a warning label." He put on a serious face and began talking in a monotone voice. "Warning. The person who is in front of you is very unlucky. Please take caution." 

Enjolras chuckled. 

"Anyways," continued Bossuet, pulling out a ribbon from his vest. "This is for good luck," he stated, bending down to tie it around Enjolras' ankle.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. 

"Hey, it's not my fault that I'm the guide to the section that involves the most walking." 

~~~

Enjolras awoke to an empty room. The psychiatrist had already left. He looked down. The brown ribbon with four-leaf clovers was in his hand. He flinched as the door opened. 

"Am I bothering you?" It was Grantaire. Enjolras sighed, relived that it wasn't the psychiatrist or the doctor. It wasn't because he was scared of them, but they made him feel uneasy. There was something familiar about them...

"It's fine." Muttered Enjolras in reply. Grantaire approached his bed before sitting down next to him. The ribbon in Enjolras' hand caught his eye. 

"Is that..." Grantaire seemed almost choked up. "Is that Bossuet's ribbon?" Enjolras nodded. "Oh." 

"Did you know him?" Questioned Enjolras, curious about Grantaire's relations to all the people he had been remembering. 

"Yeah. We're good friends." Grantaire's eyes seemed glued to the ribbon. 

"Do you want to see it?" Asked Enjolras. 

"See what?" Replied Grantaire, snapping out of his reverie. 

"The ribbon." Enjolras handed the ribbon off to Grantaire, who after staring at it for a few seconds, bent down to tie it onto Enjolras' ankle. 

"You know, I painted the four-leaf clovers." He stated, running his hand over the ribbon. "Bossuet asked me to lend him some of my good luck, so I told him to give me a ribbon so that I could paint on it."

"You're artistic?" Enjolras felt surprised, and yet he was not surprised at all. 

Grantaire smirked. "I have some talent. I'm not..." He trailed off, the smile sliding off his face. Enjolras recognized his facial expression as a look of insecurity. 

Enjolras smiled softly at Grantaire, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Grantaire, I believe you are capable of anything: believing, thinking, willing, living, and dying."

Grantaire looked up at him, face twisted in a grimace as if reminded of a horrible memory. Almost as if he was in shock of what Enjolras just said. Enjolras' smile faltered. Had he said something wrong?

Grantaire quietly got up and walked out of the room.


	3. The Corinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A buff male, a fan maker and an amnesiac walk into a bar. This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

A tall buff male walked into Enjolras' room and sat down in the chair. "I'm your personal trainer." Enjolras raised his eyebrows. He had a personal trainer? The male smiled. "Just kidding. I'm here to record your progress. So, who's ribbon are you picking today?"

Enjolras looked down at his right arm. Six ribbons still decorated it. His eyes were drawn to another painted ribbon and he began to slowly untie it. 

"Something tells me you're going to be a real fan of that one." Commented the male. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, as if reacting to a bad pun. "Feuilly." Muttered Enjolras, more to himself than the 'trainer'. 

"So, what do you remember about him?"

~~^

"You're an inspirational man, Feuilly." Declared Enjolras. 

The man who Enjolras had adressed as Feuilly smiled sheepishly, pulling down his cap. "I'm just a worker who's chosen to take a stand for what they believe in." 

Enjolras smiled at Feuilly's modesty. "But you've risked your life by becoming a guide! I've heard that the government is desperately hunting them down in order to stop them from delivering the package."

Feuilly's lips pressed into a thin line. "Listen, I need to tell you a few things."  
Enjolras nodded. "First, what you'll need for the last two guides. But more importantly, you are the package."

"Wait," Enjolras was confused. "So the government's hunting you down because of -"

Feuilly cut him off. "The next one is L'Aigle de Meaux. To round off the joke we call him -"

"Bossuet." Replied Enjolras, hurt by the sudden cut-off.

"Right. And what do you have to tell him?"

"A B C café." Enjolras sighed as he recalled what he was supposed to say to his next guide. Feuilly had only just gotten hold of him and was already preparing to send him off. However, he had warned Enjolras that this part of his route was the shortest and that they wouldn't have much time together. 

"What's the name of your final destination?" Questioned Feuilly. Enjolras could have sworn that Feuilly's eyes were watery.

"The Corinth."

~~^


	4. Night of Anguish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another doctor enters the picture.

Enjolras awoke to an empty room. Neither his so called 'personal trainer' or Grantaire was there. However, he now had more information about himself. The place where he was right now seemed to be called the Corinth. Both of his memories of Jehan and Feuilly told him that he was a 'package' for the 'guides' to deliver. From what he had said, it seemed that the government was hunting down these 'guides' because of him. Why had he been so important to the government? What had he-

The door creaked open and a lanky auburn haired male walked in. 

"Where's Grantaire?" Demanded Enjolras. 

"He has insomnia, so we're busy checking that out..." Muttered the man, sounding more like he was thinking out loud rather than answering his question. He shook his head. Turning to Enjolras, he smiled. "I'm the second doctor. I'm here to record your progress," he explained, taking out a pencil and a clipboard. "So, which ribbon is-"

"This one," interrupted Enjolras, holding up a plaid ribbon. 

The second doctor smiled widely. "Whose ribbon is it?" 

"Joly's." There was a brief pause. Enjolras looked back up at the second doctor. "You're Joly!"

Joly's smile was so wide that it seemed like it would part his face in half. "Guilty as charged." He spun the pencil with his fingers and leaned forwards. "So what do you remember?"

~~^

Enjolras was sitting at a table in the corner of a café, sipping an espresso as Joly paced in front of him. The room was empty, aside from them both. 

There was a knock on the door. 

Joly turned to him. "It's a man in uniform." Enjolras nodded, motioning for him to open the door as he slunk into the shadows of the room. He kept his eyes on Joly and the door. Uniformed men were never good news. 

Joly opened the door. "What brings you to this place?" He questioned, his voice colder than Enjolras had ever heard before. 

The man whispered something to Joly. Judging by the former's reaction, it wasn't good. Enjolras didn't dare breathe as Joly's hand went straight to his pocket as he pulled out his phone. He started dialing a number when the other man reached out an arm to stop him. However, Enjolras was shocked by what came next. Joly punched the man in the face - it had been the most violent thing Enjolras had ever seen the usually cheery doctor do. But what both he and Joly had failed to notice is that the other man wasn't alone. And that when Enjolras had seen all this unfold, he had accidentally taken a few steps forwards, going from watching in the shadows to standing in the light. 

"He's right there," stated the uniformed man's companion, pointing directly at Enjolras.

What came next happened so quickly that it was hard to follow. 

It was clear that Joly meant to put up a fight, so the moment he got in between the two men and Enjolras, the uniformed man's companion pulled out a gun and shot Joly in the leg. Joly went down quickly but somehow he had managed to angle himself so that he now faced Enjolras. "I'm sorry," whispered Joly. "I'm so sorry." The wound wasn't fatal, even Enjolras could tell. Joly would live to see another day. 

The two uniformed men strode over -stepping over Joly - and grabbed Enjolras. "You're coming with us kid." Enjolras struggled - hitting, kicking and punching - but nothing seemed to even faze the two men as they dragged Enjolras by force out of the café, leaving behind an injured Joly. 

"I'm so so sorry," Enjolras could hear Joly blubber. 

"So am I, Joly. So am I"

~~^

Enjolras awoke to an empty room. Joly wasn't there anymore. Part of him wished that Joly was there so that he could ask him exactly what had happened. The memories seemed to be occurring backwards, with the newer ones first. Jehan had told him that he was the last guide and Feuilly had been telling him what he need to tell Bossuet. If this memory had occurred before Feuilly's - which seemed probable, then Joly had just allowed Enjolras another glimpse into his past, one that seemed more anti-government than ever. For once, Enjolras had a burning desire to know, to find out-

Grantaire walked into the room. "Are you ok?" He asked. "Joly told me what happened."

Enjolras replied with a question of his own. "Is Joly ok?" The auburn doctor had probably beat himself up over the incident. 

Grantaire waved away Enjolras' concern. "He's fine. A little disappointed that it was the first thing you remembered, but at the same time, you finally remembered something from before the turning." He spit out the last word, as if it was poison. 

"The turning?" Enjolras was confused. What was the turning?

Grantaire sighed, moving near the door. "That's a long conversation that I'm not exactly in the mood to have, Enjolras." Then he left, leaving Enjolras alone with far more questions than answers.


	5. The First Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras experiences the turning.

A familiar redhead walked into Enjolras' room and sat down in the chair. 

"Feuilly," whispered Enjolras. 

Feuilly smiled at Enjolras. "I see you've gotten reacquainted with some of your memories." The fan maker pulled out a pencil and a clipboard. "So, which ribbon do you want to pick next?" 

Enjolras quickly untied a frayed ribbon that was once white, but was now covered in dirt. 

"And whose is that?" Questioned Feuilly, raising an eyebrow at the ribbon.

The image of the man who had called himself his personal trainer came to mind. "Bahorel."

~^^

Enjolras walked into the same café from his previous memory. The blackboard next to the door had 'Café Musain' written on it alongside crude diagrams depicting the main government building along with stick figures in some kind of formation. Enjolras squinted. The lone figure in the building looked like- 

"Enjolras!" Cried Bahorel. He could hear other exclamations from the others in the room, which included those who had shown up in his recent flashbacks: Joly, Feuilly, Bossuet and Jehan. He could even catch a glimpse of Grantaire sitting in the corner. They were all staring at him expectantly. 

Enjolras threw a punch a Bahorel, the latter simply sidestepping him as gasps were heard from all around. "What the hell are you doing?" Growled Enjolras. 

"I think you should ask yourself the same question, Enjolras." Retorted Bahorel. 

Enjolras entered a fighting stance. Fervent whispers circulated the room. "You know my father disapproves of these meetings."

"You knew that too," replied Bahorel calmly, raising his hands to show that he didn't want to fight. "Something's changed, Enjolras. You should leave." 

"Stop having these absurd meetings!" Exclaimed Enjolras. "They're pointless and have no meaning!" A silence settled. Everyone in the room was now staring at Enjolras, shocked. 

"Enjolras," started Bahorel, his voice taut. "You are not yourself, please leave." 

Enjolras began to speak but was promptly cut off. "But-"

"Please leave," pleaded Bahorel, his voice strained as he pushed Enjolras out the door and slammed it in his face. 

~^^

Enjolras awoke to an empty room. Feuilly was gone. He tightly clenched the ribbon in his hand. Had he really been that much of a jerk? His encounter with Bahorel when he remembered Feuilly was far more amicable than the memory he had just remembered. The Bahorel he had met made puns while Bahorel from the memory felt like a friend he had lost. Enjolras knew Bahorel had been spirited, but Bahorel from the memory acted far more defeated. What caused Bahorel to act like that? What caused himself to act like that? Could it have something to do with the turning that Grantaire had mentioned?

There was a knock at the door. "It's me."

Enjolras immediately recognized the voice as Grantaire's. "Come in."

"Are you okay?" Asked Grantaire, closing the door behind him. 

"Was it the turning?" Whispered Enjolras.

"Excuse me?" 

"Was it the turning?" Demanded Enjolras.

Grantaire's face blanched. "It was." He stated in a grave voice. 

"What was the turning?" Questioned Enjolras, leaning forward anxiously. 

"It was when they turned you against us," muttered Grantaire darkly, staring at the door. "That's what happened at the café with Joly. They took you from us and-" Grantaire's voice was strained as he clenched his fists. "They... Turned you into something you weren't." He stood up, moving close to the door. "They turned you into your father's puppet."

Then Grantaire left, leaving Enjolras with an infinite amount of questions.


	6. Red and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red: the colour of revolution.

A familiar bald man walked into Enjolras' room and sat down in the chair. 

"Bossuet," greeted Enjolras. 

Bossuet smiled. "I'm sure you know what I'm here for already." He stated, pulling out a pencil and a clipboard. "There's only two left," he noted, glancing down at Enjolras' arm. 

Enjolras followed his gaze. To his surprise, there were only two ribbons left, just as Bossuet had said. Had time really passed so quickly? He slowly untied a silky red one.

Bossuet raised his eyebrows. "And whose is that?"

Enjolras sat in shock. "Courfeyrac," he whispered softly. 

And the memory returned. 

^^^

Enjolras found himself once again in the Café Musain. There were now different diagrams on the blackboard, now portraying a city and what seemed to be an escape plan. 

"Enjolras?" Enjolras pivoted to face the confused face of Courfeyrac. "What are you doing here?" He questioned, standing far too close for Enjolras' comfort. 

"Ahhh..." Enjolras racked his brain for a valid reason to explain why he had came back after the incident with Bahorel. All of those that had shown up in his recent flashbacks were there; even the doctor - the only one who name he didn't know - was there. 

"It's because you still remember, isn't it?" Whispered Courfeyrac excitedly into Enjolras' ear. Enjolras flinched. Courfeyrac didn't seem to understand the concept of personal boundaries. "You still remember us!"

Enjolras froze. "You're wrong," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm here to stop you before you do anything along the lines of treason."

Courfeyrac's features hardened. "But surely you still remember something! Why else would you be wearing red?!" He gestured grandiosely at Enjolras' red vest. "Red," prompted Courfeyrac. 

"The blood of angry men," whispered Enjolras quietly. 

Courfeyrac's eyes lit up. "Black!"

Enjolras answered yet again. "The dark of ages past."

Courfeyrac's smile grew wider. "Red!" He yelled, gesturing grandly at Enjolras. 

"A world about to dawn."

Courfeyrac pulled out the chair from the nearby table, using it to climb onto the table. "Black!" He exclaimed, gesturing enthusiastically at Enjolras. 

Enjolras didn't know what had come over himself. "The night that ends at last!" He said, his clear voice ringing throughout the room. 

There was silence.

Then there were cheers and applause. 

"Looks like operation Red and Black - save Enjolras is a go!" Courfeyrac smiled.

^^^

Enjolras awoke in an empty room once again. He groaned. Bossuet wasn't there anymore. It seemed like this memory took place after the incident with Bahorel. The real question was when did this take place in the chronology of his memory? Enjolras wanted answers. Answers that had slowly been showing up from the lost crevices of his memories. But with all those answers came more questions. Grantaire gave him answers, but they were often cryptic and it was clear that Grantaire wasn't telling him everything. He needed to find someone who would-

The door opened and the so-called psychiatrist, who he now knew was Courfeyrac, walked into the room. 

"Hey," greeted Courfeyrac. "I understand you may not have been who you were expecting-" 

Enjolras, in one fluid motion, jumped out of bed and ran into Courfeyrac's arms. "I don't know what to do, Courf." He whispered. Enjolras remembered now. Courfeyrac had been his best friend growing up. He had been the one who had given him advice on all his social problems. Sure, Enjolras could be charming; Courfeyrac however, was on a whole other level - a social butterfly. And all of a sudden, years of familiarity had come back to him.

"Trust me. Trust us," whispered Courfeyrac. "Trust Grantaire. He's looking after you for a reason." He let go of Enjolras. "We're all cheering for you. Operation Red and Black is almost over."

And then Courfeyrac left.


	7. One Day More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another destiny. Enjolras remembers the plans they made so he could live again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Hope you have a great 2015!

A lanky man wearing the ugliest skinny jeans that Enjolras had ever seen walked into the room and sat down into the chair.

"Jehan," greeted Enjolras. There were ribbons in Jehan's long, messy blond hair, just like he remembered. 

"Enjolras." Jehan smiled widely, holding his arms open for a hug. Enjolras reluctantly hugged him. Jehan was stronger than he remembered, practically squeezing the air out of his lungs. Jehan finally released him after Enjolras took a shuddering breath. "I take it you already know what I'm here for." Jehan took a mint green pen - that was wrapped in ribbons - and a clipboard. "There's only one ribbon left," he noted. 

Enjolras gingerly unwrapped the final ribbon, a bright blue one. Holding it in his hand, he smiled. "Combeferre." He whispered. 

And then came the memory. 

^^^

Enjolras found himself once more inside the Café Musain, except this time, he was sitting down . The diagrams on the blackboard were the same ones as last time - detailing an escape from the city - only now they were more detailed. It was clear that the escape plan was almost finalized.

"What do you think?" Asked Combeferre, pushing his glasses up his nose. Enjolras was sure that Combeferre already predicted what he was going to say, but he said it anyways. 

"Kidnapping me and erasing my memories in an attempt to brainwash me? It's tantamount to treason. You know I won't stand for it."

Combeferre chuckled. "Good thing I wasn't asking for your permission then." Enjolras huffed and crossed his arms. "And if you won't stand for it, why are you still here anyways?" Enjolras glowered. "Courfeyrac was right," muttered Combeferre. "You still remember us as your friends and know we won't hurt you."

Enjolras stood up, about to leave when Bahorel passed by and pushed him back into his seat. 

"Your not here without a reason." Started Combeferre. "This is our final meeting together before... Before we execute Operation Red and Black." Enjolras could hear Courfeyrac snicker. "Most of us are leaving today to set up. Since this is such a risky operation, no one wanted to leave without saying goodbye." Combeferre looked expectantly at everyone else. 

"We're not lining up unless you do your teacher clap!" Yelled Bossuet. Cheers and shouts of approval came from the others.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. Glaring at the others, he clapped rhythmically. Enjolras watched as his friends stood up, laughing and smiling and lined up in front of him. 

"Bye Enjolras," singsonged Jehan, who was first in line. He ran his fingers through his own hair. "I think I'll grow it out. It'll look nice, don't ya think?" Enjolras could only nod. "Au revoir."

"Looks like we'll be seeing each other soon, if we're lucky." Stated Bossuet with a smile. "Good luck."

"You know, you were my biggest fan." Muttered Feuilly. "Guess I'll make a bigger one while I wait for you."

"Me and Combeferre did the calculations plenty of times," started Joly, looking down at the ground. "This is the best and safest option considering... Considering what they did to you." Joly finally looked up. "I'm sorry, Enjolras."

Enjolras flinched as soon as Bahorel approaches. Bahorel chuckled. "Even when you don't know me, you know me." He laughed as he gave Enjolras a noogie.

"We'll see each other again, old man." Chuckled Courfeyrac, ruffling Enjolras' hair. "Don't miss me."

Combeferre smiled at him. "I always had a bad vibe about your father, even though the only reason I ever met you was because of him. I never thought he would have the audacity to turn his own son into his own puppet." He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I've been thinking, whether you would have wanted me to do this or not. But then Grantaire told me something that you had said to him. I don't usually care for hearsay, but I trust him. I'm acting on what you wanted, Julien. And you know that too."

With that, all of Enjolras' friends filed out of the room. Except one. 

"Looks like you're stuck with me now," stated Grantaire, a half-smile on his face. 

^^^

Enjolras awoke in an empty room. Suddenly, he felt something wet on his cheek. Slowly, he lifted up his hand and wiped his face. It was a tear, a single tear that streaked down his face. His friends, what had he put them through? 

"Not much, if that's what you're wondering." Combeferre had walked into the room. At seeing Enjolras' stare, he sighed. "You were talking out loud. I can't read minds you know." Enjolras sighed. Combeferre had been his most reliable friend. Even if he couldn't read his mind, Combeferre often knew what Enjolras was thinking about. "But why don't you ask them yourself?" Combeferre gestured to the door, but nothing happened. 

A shout came from behind the door. "We're not lining up unless you do your teacher clap!" They could hear cheers and shouts of approval come from the others. 

Combeferre rolled his eyes. Glaring at the door, he clapped rhythmically. As soon as he finished, all of his friends filed into the room in the same order from his memory. 

"So," started Grantaire. "What do you want to know?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody stay awake  
> We must be ready for the fight  
> For the final fight  
> Let no one sleep tonight!


End file.
